Christmastime
by SirienneHolmes
Summary: Sequel to "Observation!" Sherlock likes it when John reads and John wants Sherlock to gain weight. T because these boys can sure get suggestive, can't they?


**Christmastime**

(Sequel to "Observation")

"What was Christmas like at your house?"

I open my eyes and trace my finger down the seam in John's jeans. "I thought you were reading,"

John chuckled lightly, and I hear him lower his arm, the book against the floor. "I thought you were getting bored."

"No, I wasn't," I roll over, staring up at John. I reach my arm up, as awkward as it is, and lightly touch his face with my fingers. "Keep reading. I like this part."

John sighs, smiles, lifts the book again. " 'After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the highest story in the building.' "

I sighed in delight, turning my attention back to the fire burning happily before us as John continued to read, he sitting with one leg pulled inward and the other sort of stretched out, my head resting on his lap, all six-foot something-inches of me off to the side, curled up halfway. The fire was warm and comforting, and so was John's voice, patiently reading to me a favorite tale of Christmas, one we'd both enjoyed as children.

" 'His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, 'I know him; Marley's Ghost!' and fell again.' " John put down the book and stretched. I frowned and turned over again.

"Why did you stop this time?"

"I asked you a question," John soothed, running his hand down my chest. I rarely wore any bright colors but white, and I was wearing white now—a perfectly tailored white blouse a size too big for me, coupled with the only pair of blue jeans I owned at John's request and at his only. "I want an answer."

I clicked my tongue. "You also asked me a question the day after I first came home, which I never answered." I smirked as John's face contorted into a mask of confusion.

"Which?"

"You wanted to know how I solved crimes on an empty stomach."

"Yeah, you know what? That's a pressing question, too," John nestles his finger in my curls, pulls them vertically with precision and care, letting the strands flow through his fingers like water. "How _do_ you do that? I can barely _think_ straight without a proper meal, never mind, I dunno…doing what you do." He begins to gesture with his hands, showing genuine interest in the subject. But while we're on the subject of food…

My stomach is promptly reminding me it's been a good five hours since I've had anything to eat. John's calm, reading voice had made me forget, but without it, I'm restless. I sit up rapidly, startling John, who is dressed in green and jeans. I sit for a moment, my back to the fire, one knee up, my hands pressed together at my lips. Then, I stand and John looks up at me, amused, obviously.

"Can we eat?" I look down at my stomach as it growls and cover it with one hand absently. It's been five hours, I know it has, since breakfast, but my mind clouds, my body insisting it's been days, weeks, months, since I've had anything close to a decent meal. It's my malnourishment talking, and I ignore it, in favor of a pleading glance at the love of my life.

John's dreamy, relaxed look fades and he jumps to his feet. Recognition floods to his face—guilt also—as he realizes he hasn't fed me since breakfast. "Oh." He breaths. "Oh oh oh _oh_. Sherlock, honey, you could've _said_ something!" Fretting, John storms into the kitchen. I follow, my hand still unconsciously shielding what is still so weak and demanding.

"I didn't want to interrupt you," I argue, watching John heating up some chicken dumplings—leftovers from last night—and popping some ready-made macaroni and cheese into the microwave. "I like your reading voice."

"My 'reading voice'?" John chuckles warmly and turns towards me, beckoning me forward. I come, and he rests against me. I still have to marvel at the fact that these two human bodies are made to rest against each other just right. I wonder if it's that way with all humans, or just with those you're happiest with. The one you love? Your 'soul mate,' as any young person who reads romance novels will tell you? He kisses my cheek. "Sherlock! If you get hungry, _stop me_, for God's sake! It's been _hours_!"

"Five," I stroke his cheek with two fingers.

"Five?" He questions.

I laugh at his incredulous face and turn off the boiler before he overheats the dumplings. "It's been five hours since my last meal," I nip his nose playfully, not actually aware I was capable of being adorable, never mind sexy. "Not that that indicates a large stretch of time. Before my absence, I could go for at least four days without a single tremor. And five hours versus months?" I giggle. "_Please_."

"All the same," John grabs two plates and prepares our meal, giving me a larger serving than he gives himself. "You _need_ to eat, three times a day at max, although I'd love to start serving you five meals—"

"That's too much food!" I complain, taking my plate without a fuss as we return to the fire. John collapses into his chair and I sit neatly at his feet, facing him.

"Can I at least encourage grazing?" John asks, pointing at my armchair across from him. I sigh and get up, sitting in my chair. My stomach growls, and I feel a crippling weakness begin to wind itself into my brain. I feel dizzy, lightheaded, sick to my stomach. My knees are trembling and I'm sweating just a bit, hungry enough to collapse. I moan and eventually am forced to start eating. John nibbles, and our roles are reversed as I devour my food ravenously and John merely picked at his.

"Grazing?" I raise an eyebrow. "I think you can encourage it. I'll get bored, though, so you have to hide the good stuff and make me find it."

John laughed. I was already finished with my food, and seeing that he still had one dumpling and half his macaroni left was too much of a temptation. John saw me lick my lips and traded plates with me. I wolfed down the food in front of me and sighed.

"Feel better?" John asks, smiling as he goes to wash the dishes.

"Yes." I crane my neck back over the chair and am amazed to see snow falling rapidly outside our window. I love snow, and I have loved it since I was a child. I especially loved throwing it at Mycroft until he got angry and went inside. Then, I would tunnel into the snow and sit in my fort, my "palace" until I got the sniffles and Mummy had a cup of hot chocolate with my name on it. "I used to play in the snow,"

"What?" John asks from the kitchen.

"I love snow. I used to play in it all the time." The food in my stomach radiates immense warmth throughout my body, like a fire burning there. But not a bad fire, no. A calming, sleepy fire, like the one lightly dancing in 221B Baker Street right now. I know it's probably turned my usually cool, hardened voice into a soft, dreamy purr, but I don't mind. "I used to make myself a palace and sit in it and think, chasing Mycroft away with snowballs. Snow helps me think. It's nice." John comes over and bends down. I vaguely recognize he's unbuttoning my shirt, but I'm too sleepy to care. "The way it falls, the way each snowflake is different."

"Yes," John breathes, his breath hot on my ear. I jump, startled to find him so close. But I don't want him to stop, not for the world. John's warm hands travel down my body, and I straighten out in my chair as if lying on my back in response to the touch. One supports me in the strange position, and the other is stroking my stomach, feeling the slight rise in it from my recent meal. John kisses my stomach and sighs. "You feel full. Are you?"

I chuckle. "If a warmth that has spread quickly and is making me sleepy fast is what 'full' is, then yes."

It's John's turn to chuckle. "I suppose that would be my definition, yeah."

"How much weight do I still need to gain?" I sit again, and John is practically on my lap by now.

John ruffles my hair. "I'd love to see 3.6 stone on you yet."

"_3.6_?" My mind reels, my eyebrows raise. I want to fit into my old clothes, yes, not go bursting out of them! My ego comes back, and I become aware of every calorie on my body, that I have quite possibly been over-eating this past week. My teeth snap. "_No_, John. _No_. One, I will do. Two, I will tolerate. 3.6, no. Never." Again, my teeth snap in a fine line, bone against bone, my eyes severe.

"Sherlock," John purrs, his lips ghosting against mine. I don't soften. "Sherlock, honey, I think you lost seven stone while abroad! I'd be lying if I said I didn't think you'd lost _more_!" He curls his fingers through my hair. "Sherlock," the use of my name softens me, and I relent, mostly because it does feel nice to be full, if you can believe it. There's an allure to the feeling that I can see, although I know I'll be adverse to the idea the minute I am well again. Which, really, is all well and good, because it will keep me lean and fit.

But John's words make me listen again. "Honestly, Sherlock, I'm not trying to make you burst, okay?" John kisses me. "Trust me." He kisses me again. "Please trust me. Trust your doctor." He begins to button my shirt again, but I stop him before he can reach my collarbone. "_If_ you gained 3.6 stone like I want, you'd still be underweight by a good stone. Don't worry." He cradles my cheeks and tilts my head up to capture my lips in one last deep kiss.

I kiss him back with all the strength I've got, and deepen it until we're both breathless. He collapses against me and I giggle, running my hand through his hair. "Okay," I pant, "I trust you. Have your way with me!"

John shakes his head against my chest. "Never…never did I think I'd hear those words…from _your_ mouth!"

"Shall I say them again?" I ask excitedly, already regaining my breath.

John laughs and gets up. I get up, too. John looks at the clock. "It's almost Christmas, Sherlock. What do you want?"

I shake my head. "Nothing but John."

John hugs me tight. "I'd like to know how you solve a case with an empty stomach."

I smile into his hair. "I'll tell you. On my own time."

John punches me lightly in the arm. Then, we shower separately and climb into bed. "John?" I ask innocently before John turns out the light.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Will you finish the chapter for me?"

John smiles and goes to fetch the book. Soon, I am lost in the words of Charles Dickens and visions of test tubes dancing in my head.

_Cute, no? I feel like everybody wants to spend their Christmases with Sherlock and John. I'd be happy to take a peek…_

_For those of us visiting this story in December, Merry Christmas! More will follow shortly, because I LOVE this little series and I'm getting quite comfortable with my "Sherlock First Person" writings. If you enjoyed this, please leave me a review! Thanks!-SH_

_P.S. In case you don't know, I quoted from Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." :D_


End file.
